


I Wish You Would

by deanlovescastielswormstache



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Jealous Enjolras, Lots of sexual tension, M/M, Pining Enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 00:35:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2753030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanlovescastielswormstache/pseuds/deanlovescastielswormstache
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire was at the coffee shop today, sitting quietly across from Enjolras, his hands busy with his sketchbook doing some art project or other, the sunlight slanting across his stubble and catching his curls in a manner that made them look like the dark amber of whiskey. Enjolras got no work done, but he left with jittery hands and an estimate of the number of eyelashes that Grantaire had curling over his cheek. Enjolras spent all night cursing his inattention as he crammed the last of his paper into the early hours of the night. Or in other words, the ways in which Grantaire gets under Enjolras' skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Wish You Would

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr prompt: E/R "You always knew how to push my buttons." It's a line from Taylor Swift's new album 1989, the song is called I Wish You Would, which is coincidentally the title of this work. Thank you to Jaimie for talking me through this!

The meeting was at its end, the focus of the group having dissipated a while ago when Bossuet broke his third glass of he evening, met with a thundering applause and Bahorel's announcement that he was buying a round of drinks in celebration. Enjolras huffed in irritation before starting to gather his things, ignoring the drink that had been ceremoniously placed in front of him and its appallingly bright shade of purple. He stiffened as he heard Grantaire's chuckling travel across the room as he continued to grin maddeningly at Enjolras’ shoulders, which he felt traveling higher and higher up his back. Grantaire pushed himself off the wall where he was leaning and began his approach towards Enjolras, his gait slow and purposeful, the roll of his hips mesmerizing and Enjolras couldn’t move, couldn’t breath as a tightness invaded his throat. He couldn’t look away and he couldn’t even speak when Grantaire invaded his personal space in order to grab his drink and down it in one go. Enjolras watched Grantaire’s Adams apple bob and his mouth felt parched and he really needed to move, to leave, to be anywhere but here. Grantaire slammed the empty glass on the table, and Enjolras jumped. Grantaire smirked, and before Enjolras knew it he was moving, pushing past Grantaire, out the door and into the black night. Enjolras didn’t even realize he had forgotten his notes on the meeting until Combeferre smacked him in the head with them the next morning.

 

*     *     *

 

He was arguing, and not only that he was arguing _Enjolras’_ points for him. This cold had come out of nowhere and Enjolras’ voice had disappeared between lunch and the meeting and Combeferre and Courfeyrac were both conspicuously absent, but Enjolras’ had insisted in carrying on with the meeting. However, five minutes in, Grantaire had apparently gotten irritated with Enjolras’ attempts to write his arguments for everyone to see. He stood up and walked over to where Enjolras was sitting, peered at his notes, and nodded at Enjolras before clearing his throats and launching into the arguments that Enjolras had prepared so carefully before. And not only that, he was doing so more eloquently than Enjolras had ever imagined. Grantaire incorporated points that Enjolras never thought of and that night over his chicken noodle soup and the revision of his arguments, he decided that Grantaire couldn’t be that bad.

 

*     *     *

 

Grantaire was at the coffee shop today, sitting quietly across from Enjolras, his hands busy with his sketchbook doing some art project or other, the sunlight slanting across his stubble and catching his curls in a manner that made them look like the dark amber of whiskey. Enjolras got no work done, but he left with jittery hands and an estimate of the number of eyelashes that Grantaire had curling over his cheek. Enjolras spent all night cursing his inattention as he crammed the last of his paper into the early hours of the night.

 

*     *     *

 

Enjolras couldn’t help but track Grantaire with his eyes that sunny afternoon. How dare he come to the rally looking so rumpled? His shirt was severely wrinkled and his jeans were ripped and splattered with paint. And speaking of paint, it was everywhere on him, his hands covered in a navy blue, splotches of scarlet dotting his cheeks, and a lime green speckling his curls. He looked absolutely inappropriate for a rally supporting the increase of minimum wage. Or for anywhere outside his art studio honestly. There was a confrontation, there were raised voices, and yet when Enjolras went back home that night, all he could think about was the heart shaped fleck of purple just to the right of his pink lips.

 

*     *     *

 

Enjolras had only ever gone to one of Grantaire’s performances once. Curiosity got the best of him, and he ducked into the back of one of his shows, staying in the shadows as he saw a new Grantaire come forward, whose eyes were sparkling with vitality, who had a sincere laugh and a heartfelt smile. As soon as Grantaire’s fingers touched the strings of his guitar, Enjolras experienced a swooping sensation. He didn’t even wait to listen to the lyrics. He left just after hearing Grantaire’s honeyed voice caress his ears and went to a club. But no matter how many of those deafening beats they blasted into his ears, he could only hear Grantaire’s soft laugh and melodic tune.

 

*     *     *

 

It was normal for the amis to have a sleepover. What wasn’t normal was that Grantaire didn’t drink a single drop of alcohol. Not that Enjolras was paying attention to Grantaire, let alone his alcohol intake. That night, Grantaire was up the latest of them all, Enjolras didn’t even remember when he fell asleep, all he knew was that when he woke up, he found Grantaire next to him, sleeping soundly. He was curled up on his side and his curls flopped into his closed eyes and his face was relaxed, all traces of age wiped from Grantaire’s normally worried face. Enjolras couldn’t help but wonder what this man’s dreams had been before he judged the world to be a cruel, hard place. Enjolras turned away from Grantaire, rolling over to his other side. He took a long time falling back asleep. The next morning Grantaire was up early, making coffee for the rest of the amis. He was soft and gentle and Enjolras felt an ache of longing in his chest, but he couldn’t express himself. He caught the expression of hurt that crossed Grantaire’s face as he turned away after receiving no thanks for the coffee. Enjolras wanted to say something, but his throat was stuck and all he could do was trace Grantaire’s figure in those sinful flannel pajama pants and feel his heart tug at those mussed curls.

 

*     *     *

 

Enjolras watched Grantaire from across the club, laughing as some man he had just met put an arm around him. He felt on edge, ordered another drink and sullenly nursed it, watching the man’s hand drift lower and lower down Grantaire’s  back and he couldn’t watch, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Less than a half hour later, Grantaire was dragging this guy out the door, the intent in his eye obvious. Enjolras swallowed down nausea. _It is ok to be sexually active, as long as he is safe,_ Enjolras reminded himself. That brought a litany of images to his head, Grantaire naked, Grantaire kissing him, Grantaire’s hands in his hair, pulling off his shirt, panting and hot. Enjolras shook his head to clear it. He was _not_ attracted to Grantaire. They weren’t compatible in the slightest, and even if Grantaire had gotten miles better since they had first met, Enjolras had no time to engage in a relationship, regardless of whether or not he wanted to. Enjolras scanned the bar and picked out an attractive curly-haired man with dark blue eyes and a beanie. He got up but found himself walking towards the door. It wasn’t worth the effort. His heart wasn’t in it, and in that moment, Enjolras realized that he really just wanted to hold Grantaire right there and then. But Grantaire was gone. Enjolras went back home to his empty apartment, to a cold shower and a hollow bed.

 

*     *     *

 

It was raining and Grantaire’s apartment was close. He hurried his footsteps, hoping to get out of the sudden downpour before he was completely soaked. Enjolras banged on Grantaire’s door and it swung open, revealing a Grantaire that was apparently staying in that day, if the crazy curls and sweatpants were any indication. Grantaire glanced him over before ushering him in and before he knew it, Enjolras was in dry clothes that Grantaire let him borrow. He was in _Grantaire’s_ clothes. He wanted to just breathe in Grantaire’s woody scent, imagine himself completely enveloped in Grantaire, but he had to control himself. He couldn’t make things awkward for Grantaire so he restrained himself to flopping on the couch. Grantaire joined him shortly and within minutes they were watching Friends reruns, giggling and making the occasional comment about how Phoebe reminded them of Jehan. Enjolras was paying attention to the movie, but he felt heat radiating from Grantaire, and he wanted to cross that empty few inches and curl around Grantaire, to wrap himself around Grantaire and never leave. Before he knew it, he had reached over and slumped into Grantaire’s arms. Grantaire stiffened, before relaxing and running his hands through Enjolras’ hair. They lay there for a few episodes before Grantaire bent over to kiss Enjolras’ forehead, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

 

“Oh my god, Enjolras, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Grantaire’s hand was covering his mouth, and his expression was half fearful and half shocked at his own audacity.

 

“Shut up Grantaire, you always knew how to push my buttons, don’t you dare push this one.” And with those words, Enjolras reached up and finally, _finally_ , pulled Grantaire to him, sinking a hand into the rough curls and this time, Enjolras didn’t feel irritated in the slightest.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow my personal blog [here](http://deanlovescastielswormstache.tumblr.com) and my Les Mis blog [here](http://permets-tu-not-permettez-vous.tumblr.com).


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